The Trouble With Being A Twin
by quitesirius
Summary: Fred gets a job at a local restaurant during the summer to help pay for the joke shop supplies. When Fred gets sick, George takes his place and faces a terrible dilemma. Featuring mistaken identity, disco dancing, and one seriously messedup house.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is my first fic in a very, very long time, and my first Weasley twin fic overall. Slightly AU. While both twins are heavily involved in the story, this is George-centric. The rating is a safety for later chapters, when there is much confusion over identity and love-type stuff. This first chapter is short and a bit OC, but then, George has not been really explored in the books. In this story, they look like the Phelps twins in GoF: tall with long red hair. Also, this story takes place during the summer between GoF and OotP. Oh, and the Weasleys will not be heading off to Grimmauld Place until near the end of summer.

Enjoy and review, perdy please.

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Fred and George Weasley. Gred and Forge. The Weasley Twins. The twins. 

George Weasley laid on his bed, chin in his hands as he leaned up on his elbows and stared out at the starry sky overhead. It was his first night back at the Burrow after finishing up what had been his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Fred was snoring already.

Sometimes George wondered if he snored when he was asleep.

He appreciated quiet moments like these, when he got them. They were very few and far between when you lived in a house filled with Weasleys. George was the fifth of seven, and he could not remember a time in his life when the house was this quiet without everyone being asleep. There was always shouting and explosions interspersed with hooting owls and flying cereal during waking hours.

Life hadn't quieted any after Bill and Charlie left. In fact, it hadn't changed at all. And there had definitely been no change when Percy left, except that the only one really harping on the twins was their mother.

He sighed and allowed his chin to sink into his pillow. He turned his head just enough to glance over at Fred, who was sprawled over his bed in a position that one would associate with torture, rather than sleep. His snoring faded in and out as he rolled over and nearly fell off of his bed. Fred was as dangerous asleep as he was awake.

It was when he watched Fred sleep that George allowed himself to grow introspective. He wasn't sure why that was, but it was.

He imagined what he would have been like if he had been born as a single. Would he have been as keen on pranks? How could he have existed without someone to finish his sentences? He disliked thinking about life without Fred, but sometimes the thought crept into his head, unwelcome and irritating.

The truth was, George knew, that the world saw them as one person. There was no distinction between the two. Sometimes even George got confused when they played the switching game. But that was when they were performing, not when they were alone.

He called it that: performing. Fred and George never cried, or were sorry, or even fell in love. They were always loud, boisterous, flirtatious, and sarcastic. Fred was the leader; he wrote the scene. George spell-checked; he was the sidekick. He said nothing when he thought Fred was out of line. Instead, he followed suit. The only time he had disagreed with his twin was just a few months before, when Fred had wanted to blackmail Ludo Bagman.

He looked over at Fred, whose hair was a shaggy mess, identical to his own, his pinstripe pajamas wrinkled and worn. He loved Fred dearly; he was his other half. He knew perfectly well that he could not function without him, and vice versa. They finished each other's sentences, worked out the kinks in each other's plans, and were the best of friends.

But sometimes George wished that somebody would notice that he had a small scar in his hairline that Fred didn't. Or that Fred had a mole on his neck that George didn't. Or maybe that George's voice was deeper and that Fred knotted his shoelaces five times each.

But nobody ever would, and while there was a tiny part of him that was angered by that, there was a part of him that took comfort in it. If they were almost impossible to tell apart, it wasn't the end of the world. George knew, when the audience of the day was gone and the night took over, they were two different people.

And as long as he knew that, it would be okay.

With that, he drifted into dreams of winning a quidditch match and Alicia Spinnet congratulating him with a kiss.

He didn't snore.


	2. Chapter One: Breakfast at the Burrow

A/N: Okay, this chapter is mostly to set up a couple more differences between Fred and George, and this chapter focuses mostly on Fred. There are a few paragraphs that are just sort of glance-overs of events, but I felt that they were neccessary and that writing out long descriptions and dialogue was superfluous. I hope you like this (reviews are lovely). Expect the next chapter in a week or so :)

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**Chapter One: Breakfast at the Burrow**

Fred Weasley did _not_ do mornings.

They were… unholy. Yes, that's what they were. He found it to be just this side of unbearable torture to have to get up before he was entirely ready at, oh, ten-ish. He had spent hours upon hours pondering just how George could get out of bed at seven each morning and never quite figured it out.

But then, he supposed it was a good thing that one of them was a semi-early riser, as George got a lot of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes paper-pushing, business-y stuff done before Fred had even pondered removing himself from the cocoon of his blankets.

It had been a silent agreement between the two of them, probably around the age of four, Fred thought, that any pranks they concocted would be worked on _together_. Fred was Idea Man (though occasionally George had a brilliant one) and George was the Business Guy (Fred shunned paperwork). And while they allowed the other to work on things independently, George on business and Fred on thinking up newer ways to play old tricks (or new ones), they had never once strayed from working on formulas, selling things, or planning things out _together_.

"Fred… _Fred_…. FRED!"

Had it been George who shouted at the large lump beneath the covers that was Fred, Fred would have peeked out, asked if there was a breakthrough, and if not, tackled his twin and force-fed him garden gnomes.

But it wasn't George, and so Fred cursed beneath his breath and yanked his pillow closer to his head.

"_FRED!_"

With a strangled noise that almost sounded like a drowning poodle, Fred swung his arm wildly in hopes of whacking his younger sister upside the head. He was practically mummified in his sheets, and it was only due to years of practice that he was able to move his limbs so quickly despite being impeded by several battered blankets.

However, Ginny was also well-practiced in the arts of a morning at the Burrow, and easily ducked Fred's hand. She pounced on him as he prepared for another assault, and giggled happily (or cackled evilly, in Fred's opinion) as she yanked her brother's pillow away and gave him a noogie.

"GIN!" Fred shouted.

He was very particular about his hair. Hermione had once told him that he was the only guy she had ever seen feather his hair. Fred offered to help her out with her crazy mane, but she had declined and said that the day she let Fred Weasley do her hair would be the day she "swallowed a live newt".

Fred rolled over as best he could with a thirteen year old girl atop him and lunged forward, gaining the upper hand. "HA-HA!" he crowed triumphantly as he plunged his fingers down and began tickling Ginny's sides. She screeched with laughter and begged him to stop in between gasps for breath. Fred, however, had learned to be relentless, as she was the only sibling aside from George who would exact revenge at the first given opportunity.

He let her up when she started turning purple.

"Tell me, dearest sister of mine," Fred said as they both collapsed against the mess of bedding against the wall, still laughing sporadically, "why do you insist on me being your only victim in the mornings?"

Ginny smiled outright. "Because Bill and Charlie aren't here, Percy would hate me forever, Ron might kill me in my sleep, and George is always up before me. Besides, you're the most fun."

"Oh, now I'm not fun?" George asked from where he was leaning against the doorframe, a goblet of steaming pumpkin juice in his hand.

"I never meant that, George! You just get up too early!"

"She's lying, you know, George. She thinks you're quite boring, really." Fred winked at his twin over Ginny's head.

Ginny's mouth dropped and she turned to Fred with an angered look. She punched him as hard as she could in the shoulder and he winced despite himself. Growing up with six brothers had leant her some muscles, apparently.

"S'alright, Gin. I know Fred's your favorite. The rest of us are just old shoes for you to toss out." George pretended to sniffle a bit and started to turn. "I'll just leave you two be… I know there's no room for a boring brother amidst all the giddy fun."

"George! Don't be like that! If anyone's boring, it's Percy!"

"WEASLEYS! BREAKFAST!" came the booming voice of their father.

Arthur Weasley knew better than to stand in front of the stairs after making such an announcement, and immediately proceeded to the kitchen.

This was a wise decision.

Soon there were four redheads jockeying for position on the staircase. Ron had come thundering out of his room, hoping to beat Fred and George for once. George had been the first out of the twins' room, then Ginny, and then Fred (Fred was shouting at Ginny for pushing him down as she leapt off of his bed). They all reached the staircase at the same time and an all-out brawl broke out. Ginny and Ron combined efforts to pull back George and get ahead of him, but Fred tripped Ron before he could help his sister much. Ron attempted to jump the banister, but George grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him back over. By the time they had reached the kitchen, Ron's pajamas were ripped, George had a stubbed toe, Ginny's hair was a mess, and Fred's shirt was half-off.

Molly sighed as she took in the sight of her four youngest children. "Go on then, eat up."

Breakfast was the usual affair—Ron threw cereal at Ginny when she called him a beanpole, Fred and George were discussing possible spells to use for their latest project, Arthur was telling Molly about a raid he had went on the night before (she was only half-listening, as she was trying to tell Ginny that she needed to help with the laundry that day), and Errol was attempting to catch his breath after dropping off a letter from Charlie.

When they finished, everyone went their separate ways. Molly was instantly at the sink bewitching things to self-clean, Arthur was out in his shed, Ginny was on her way to the lake, Ron was reading his copy of _Flying With the Cannons_ for the billionth time, and Fred and George headed up to their room to begin the first experiments of the summer. They were hard at work on what they planned to call Extendable Ears, and everything was going according to plan.

George liked Extendable Ears. At least with them he knew he wouldn't experience any side-effects, like he had with the Fainting Fancies. He still got really lightheaded and called Fred "Frank" from time to time.

The two of them dressed quickly, and, George was thankful, differently. While he usually didn't mind dressing identical to Fred, it was nice to get a break from it once in a while. He decided on a blue shirt, jeans, and his favorite sneakers. Fred picked his favorite "Weird Sisters" shirt, with two Flying V guitars crossed behind the band's logo, some jeans, and his favorite sneakers. When Fred jumped over the back of his chair to take a look at the Extendable Ears, he snatched up his Gryffindor tie and tied it around his head like a warrior.

George rolled his eyes. "No idea why you insist on doing that."

"It puts me in the right mindset for inventing. You ought to try it, seriously." He held out George's tie to him.

He took it and tied it around his head. He looked contemplative for a second, sensing out whether Fred was right. He shrugged. "I suppose."

The hours ticked by, and Molly was thankful to only hear two explosions from the twins' room. She was busy dusting off pictures on the mantelpiece, allowing herself to be swept into the past by them. It was decidedly easier to get swept away when your memories were not punctuated with loud bangs, she thought.

She gazed at all the pictures in turn. Christmas after Bill had been born… Arthur and herself at the altar… Ron and Ginny before they left for King's Cross and Ron's first year began… Percy with his Head Boy badge… Harry and Ron the first summer Harry had stayed over… Arthur opening a gift of plugs from Hermione, who was looking on giddily… Charlie dodging a dragon in Romania… the twins braiding Ginny's hair into pigtails…

"Oh, hi mum! Just getting a glass of water!"

Molly looked up and saw one of the twins. She was feeling very motherly today, as was evident when her reply was not, "About time you left your room and did _something_ productive!"

"Of course, George," she smiled.

Even the trained eye of Molly Weasley did not see his smile falter before he replied, "I'm Fred."

When they were a week into their holidays, Fred and George made a very, very important decision.

They needed jobs.

It was natural, of course, that they would need money to run a joke shop. The outrageously generous donation that Harry had given them was enough to buy the shop itself, but supplies, marketing, and help would require more money. And if they couldn't get that from their parents or Ludo Bagman, they would have to earn it themselves. George didn't mind the idea much, reasoning that they would, while working, get to see how business was conducted and pick up a few pointers. Fred was less anxious and hoped that one summer of work would be enough to buy enough supplies to last the whole of the pending school year.

With the blessings of their perplexed and slightly suspicious parents, the two headed into Ottery St. Catchpole the next morning dressed for interviews. They had decided that working in Diagon Alley would cut back on profit, as they would have to pay for Floo Powder… and it would be an issue getting hired in places that sent clerks to follow them and make sure they didn't blow anything up. The only place worth working at in Hogsmeade was Gambol and Jape's, but again, that cut into their paychecks with travel.

Ottery St. Catchpole was a muggle village, but it was within walking village and it couldn't be _that_ hard working for muggles.

Or so they thought.


	3. Chapter 2: Lionel and the Seagraves

A/N: So… I know that last chapter was crap, but you can't have it all, right? Sorry this chapter took so long to get out, but work and my love life have been rather hectic as of late, preventing me from writing. I'm also packing up to leave for college, woot! Hope you enjoy this, even though I couldn't get the breaker bars to work! Remember, reviews make me write faster!

!Chapter 2: Lionel and the Seagraves!

"Are you really sure this is the best way to go, George?"

The twins were standing atop a hill overlooking Ottery St. Catchpole, the muggle village the Weasleys lived about three miles from. It had been a tedious walk so early in the day, Fred thought, yawning. He glared over at his twin, who was just too chipper for such an unholy hour.

"Yes, Fred, I do. See, there's the village right there." George pointed toward the town below, windows glittering in the mid-morning light.

Ottery St. Catchpole was roughly the size of Hogsmeade, but with more residential housing and fewer magical folk (Arthur said that only the Lovegoods and Mr. and Mrs. Diggory also inhabited the area). Each house, the twins came to notice, boasted marvelous rose gardens and vividly green climbing ivy. Had there not been cars parked in the driveways, the homes may have come straight out of centuries gone by. One even had a Ford Anglia, though it was a pale, rusty red, rather than the blue the Weasleys' had been before it had left them to live in the Forbidden Forest.

"No!" Fred muttered, pushing on his brother's shoulder. "I mean, do you really think we should be getting muggle jobs? We don't know a bloody thing about—"

"Relax!" He held up his hands to calm Fred. "I've done some studying on the subject. Did you really think we'd be going into this blindly?"

George reached into his knapsack, which Molly had insisted they take to keep their homemade lunches in, and produced a book titled, Muggles and How They Get Along Without Magic. He opened it and thumbed through the first few pages before he found what he was looking for. He scanned the page and then flipped to a page about halfway through the text.

"Muggles undertake work that most witches and wizards do not, such as ditch-digging and plumbing maintenance. In America, these are known as 'blue collar' jobs. However, quite a few muggles also have jobs that are fairly common in our world. These jobs include pharmacists (potion-makers and healers), inn owners, bookshop owners, bartenders, authors, post office employees (muggles do not use owls, however), and musicians, among other things." He snapped the book closed, satisfied, and smiled at Fred. "See? We can do this."

"I suppose…"

George put the book into his knapsack again and held out his hand. "Give me your wand, Fred. I'm putting them in my bag." He withdrew his own wand from his pocket and put it in to show Fred he wouldn't be cheating.

"What if I need it?"

He cocked a brow. "What could you need it for?"

Fred thought for a moment. "Might get attacked by a bi-trickle."

George rolled his eyes. "That happened when we were seven, Fred, it's time to let it go."

"Easy for you to say! You weren't almost killed by a two-wheeled maniac!"

"Easy for me to say? Hah! I pushed you out of the way and got clipped with the handly-bars! That's where I got this scar!" He pointed to the small scar in his hairline for emphasis.

Fred restrained himself from saying anything. Instead, he sighed, and George followed suit. This was their way of agreeing that the matter was dropped. Fred handed over his wand and George tucked it safely into a small pocket next to his. He zipped up the bag and the two exchanged a resolved look.

"Do you think we dressed right for this?"

"I think so. The book said that muggles dress up a bit when they go looking for jobs. It said that lads go in slacks, dress shirts, and ties. I think we ought to be safe in these."

The only dress clothes that either of them owned were the moth-eaten robes they had worn to the Yule Ball, and George's research had proved them to be inappropriate. He had cross-checked with a Muggle Studies book that Hermione had left during her last visit, just to be sure. So the twins had put on their school uniforms, minus cloaks and sweaters, and had called it good. They were dressed as well as they could be, in black slacks that were beginning to turn gray, white button-up shirts that they had spent half the morning vanishing stains off of, and their Gryffindor ties. Fred was yet to tuck his shirt in.

"Well, here we go, then."

The streets of Ottery St. Catchpole were cobbled and crooked. Fred and George spent a good chunk of time wandering past houses, which would have taken muggles about five minutes, as they were busy staring at mailboxes, sprinklers, garage doors that were opening and closing, children playing on Slip'n'Slides, and a man operating a weed-whacker. Needless to say, they got some odd looks from people that walked by, and some of the people in the yards. Yet, there were a couple of children who seemed to be just as interested in staring at them.

Fred winked at a little boy who waved at them.

By the time they reached the part of town with all the shops in it, it was about eleven o'clock and both were starving. They chose a bench beneath a shady tree in the town square and sat down to eat their sandwiches. George opened his bag and pulled them out, handing one to Fred before tearing into his own.

Aside from the red hair, the stubbornness, and the tendency to blush, one way to tell a Weasley from anyone else was their ability to make food vanish almost instantaneously. Draco Malfoy often said that this was because they had so little food that they devoured anything they came across just to ensure survival. Ron often called him some very foul names after this and had points docked by Snape.

The sandwiches (corned beef and cheddar, much to George's chagrin, as he disliked cheddar) were gone quickly, but the pumpkin juice lingered. The twins sat, taking in the sights of the town and watching muggles go about their business. Despite having lived in the area their entire lives, they had only been to Ottery St. Catchpole a handful of times. Those times had been quite adventurous, as they had always been on their father's birthday. Arthur Weasley adored going in to town to look at muggle devices, and it had been his fascination that had led him to neglect his twin sons for too long. Molly had nearly clanged him in the head with a frying pan when she saw that George was bleeding and Fred was scraped up from being pushed out of the way of a bit-rickle.

"Well, where do you suppose we should start?"

"I'm not quite sure… I've got to use the loo, first of all." Fred got to his feet and brushed off his trousers. He glanced around the square and spotted a small establishment that looked fairly promising as far as cleanliness went. "Be right back."

George shrugged and took another swig of his pumpkin juice.

!Inside Lione's Cafe!

When Fred swung open the door to Lionel's Café, his first thought was that the world was ending.

There were people everywhere. They were swarming the counter, asking for drinks that were terribly hard to pronounce, let alone remember. Others were crowding tables and complaining about the prices of petrol. Still others were racing around with empty mugs and glasses, pushing sweaty hair from their faces and wiping sticky fingers on their aprons. The clanging of dishes was very audible, even amongst the din of dozens of conversations.

"Oy, could you move please?"

Fred jumped out of the way of a man carrying a large tub of dishes and decided that perhaps he ought to look elsewhere for a restroom. He turned to open the door, dodging two other people before he could even reach for the handle. Someone bumped into him just as he extended his arm, the door handle turned, and the door swung forward. A searing sensation spread through his fingers when they collided with the wood of the door, and he yanked his hand back.

Next thing Fred knew, a sharp pain was undulating from his nose and a crowd of people was huddled over him, asking if he was alright. It felt as though his nose was in the back of his throat and it suddenly seemed that "How many fingers am I holding up?" was the hardest question he'd ever been asked.

"What happened?" he asked, struggling to regain his balance as someone struggled just as hard to get him to his feet.

"I'm _so_ sorry! I was late for work and I didn't even think that somebody would be so close to the door when I—oh, you're bleeding!"

She was small, standing only high enough to reach his elbow. Her light brown hair was tied up in a messy ponytail and her golden wire-rimmed glasses were askew. Her sneakers were untied, which she only noticed when Fred accidentally stepped on one of the laces and they both nearly took another trip to the floor. Her green apron was crooked and, Fred thought, she had some of the most stunningly dark blue eyes in the world.

"Oy! Budge up!" she scolded, nudging a man who was sitting on a stool they had been slowly moving toward. "Can't you see he's injured?"

The man darted away with his cup of peppermint tea and the girl helped Fred to sit down. She took a tissue out of her pocket and handed it to him. He accepted it and applied pressure to his nose. She pulled up a seat beside him, still looking terribly worried at what she had done to him.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded. "Sure. Nothing that can't be healed by a simple po—" he stopped, remembering he was supposed to be a muggle. "Pop to the doctor."

"Are you sure? I feel simply awful!" She reached out and put a sympathetic hand on his upper arm.

"Laura! Shouldn't you be working?" A man with a thick mustache and a very horrible pair of orange shoes demanded, stalking over to them.

She whirled around on her seat to look at him. "Sorry, Lionel, but I just hit this lad in the face with the door and I about killed him."

"It's true," Fred interjected. He wasn't about to let this girl get in trouble with her boss over him. "I was turning to leave, and, well, I don't really remember anything until she helped me off the floor—"

"I think I knocked him out, actually. I was running a bit late because my car wouldn't start-- I, look, I'm terribly, horribly, awfully sorry, Lionel. I'll stay late every night for a week!"

This seemed to soften Lionel's expression. "Don't worry about it, Laura. You haven't been Employee of the Month four times for nothing. I can allow you a slip-up once in a while, right?" He smiled and clapped a hand on her shoulder. He turned his eyes on Fred. "As for you, young sir, can I get you anything? An ice pack? Lemonade? Coffee?"

Fred shook his head. "No thanks. I just came in to use the loo before heading off on a job search. Nothing to drink, believe me."

"Oh, well, the loo's right around the corner. And when you're finished, I'd like to have a word with you. Laura, off with you, then."

When Fred finished cleaning the blood off his face, he ventured back into the café, only to find that quite a few of the customers had disappeared to other tourist attractions. He glanced around for Lionel, wondering what on Earth he could possibly want. He did not suspect that he was somehow in trouble, as Lionel's tone had not indicated any wrath was to be hashed out. He caught sight of the café owner cleaning out some type of machine behind the counter, and sauntered over.

"You wanted to talk to me?"

Lionel swiveled his head to look at Fred. "Ah, yes. What's your name?"

"Fred Weasley."

Lionel extended his hand to shake Fred's. "Excellent to meet you, Fred. I'm Lionel Cartwright and this is my establishment."

"Lovely place," Fred replied, quite unsure as to where this conversation was going.

"Thank you. Anyway, I recall you saying that you were searching for a job today?"

His face split into a devilish, trademark Weasley-twin grin. "I am."

"Fantastic! I've been in need of an extra set of hands the last couple of weeks and I think we could work something out. Have you ever worked in a café before?" His voice was somewhat over-excited, and Fred had to bite back he urge to giggle.

"Well, no, but I'm very willing to learn." Then he remembered George. "Oh, and if you need a couple of sets of extra hands, my brother George is looking for a job as well."

Lionel looked crest-fallen. "Oh, well, as much as we need it, I can't fit any more on my payroll without schedules clashing. I have a couple of baristas and waiters who can only work certain shifts… otherwise I'd take your offer. Give your brother my sympathies."

An internal struggle was brewing inside of Fred. Could he take on his first job without George? Could he take on any job without George? Or was it time… that long-dreaded time that both twins had known would come? The time would they would have to begin doing things separately? Was this the first step down a road that would turn them into average siblings, rather than Gred and Forge?

"Well, I—"

"Your hours would be from one until closing, same as Laura's. We usually close around eight o'clock, but on busy nights we stay open until at least nine. Laura would train you and you could start as soon as you would like. Take a day to weigh out your options and talk to your brother, then come back and see me tomorrow."

Well, there wasn't much room for argument there.

"I was starting to think you'd died," George joked as he saw Fred approaching. He knit his brows and narrowed his eyes. "Are you bleeding?"

Fred shrugged nonchalantly and pulled the tissue away from his nose to see if the bleeding had ceased. "Not much."

He lifted a brow. "Why are you bleeding?"

He shrugged again. "Got hit with a door."

"Oh. Well, alright. Ready to head off on the hunt?" George got up and began to repack his bag.

Fred shuffled his feet uncomfortably. George chuckled. "I thought you just went to the loo."

"I did," Fred muttered. "Look, George… we need to talk."

!Later!

Dinner at the Burrow that evening was tense.

Fred and George were not sitting beside each other, nor were they speaking. Ginny, who was being used as the barrier sitting between them, was very edgy. She could not remember a single time in her life when the twins had been so defensive against each other. Molly had tried to coax them into telling her what was wrong, both separately and collectively, but neither had budged. Arthur had asked them if something had happened, and George had opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and shot a glare at Fred. Ron was too freaked out to say anything to anyone.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of the evening, however, was when Fred went upstairs to their bedroom…

And George slept on the couch.

!In Fred and George's Room!

It was ridiculous, Fred thought. It was ridiculous how George had reacted. Had it been absolutely necessary to throw his ice tea in his face? He rubbed at his nose a bit—it was still sore from when Laura had hit him with the door.

The fact of the matter was that they were seventeen now… it was time for them to do some things apart. It wasn't as if Fred wanted to move to New York and have George move to Tokyo or anything! It was just a stupid summer job. Just something to help pay for the up-and-coming Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Being apart of a summer would bring them closer than ever before, if you wanted to get technical about it.

It wasn't unreasonable.

Their entire lives, the only things they had done separately were shower, use the lavatory, and go on dates (well, sort of, as the other was always along with his date… okay—they kissed by themselves!) Why couldn't they branch out a bit? Why couldn't they—

The door creaked open and George slid into the room. Fred didn't expect much more than to have more liquids thrown in his face. He was stunned when George spoke without yelling or name-calling.

"Fred? You awake?" His voice as filled with dread.

Which it should have been, Fred thought, because he was very good at the Leg-Locker Curse. And he wouldn't lift it for a day, just to be spiteful.

"Yes," Fred snapped. "Come to throw something else at me?"

"No," he muttered shamefully. "I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have over-reacted…"

Fred sat up in bed, incredulous. "Over-reacted? You threw your drink in my face and would have strangled me with your bag handle if I hadn't tackled you!"

George sighed somewhere in the darkness. "I know… sorry, alright? I just… I've been thinking a lot lately about what it would be like if we were apart a bit. It's a scary thought, but that's all it was, then—a thought. And when you said that you'd been hired by yourself, I felt like… like I was losing you for a minute. And that made me so angry, Fred. I couldn't hold it in! When you said that you were thinking it was a good idea to be apart a little bit more, I thought… well, I don't know what I thought. I'm sorry, alright?"

Fred sat for a moment, contemplating his twin's words. "Alright… I didn't know, George. I'm sorry. I thought that you would be angry that I wanted to be away from you a bit, because we've always done everything together-- everything… I thought that was why you got so angry. Not because of… well, whatever it is you said. That you wanted the same thing and finally realized it, or whatever."

The air was thick with something neither could define. They were quiet for a moment.

"Do you think it's a good idea?" George asked.

"What?"

"Being apart for this? We don't really… function… away from each other." He struggled to find his next words. "Like… when we were eleven, and… we went to Hogwarts… and decided to try things out on our own because mum thought it would be good for us… and… it wasn't. We were both so upset by the end of the feast that you crept into my bed that night, and back out again before the sun came up. That was the only time we ever tried being apart… and it was so awful, Fred. I felt lost and incomplete and lonely… but lately I've been wondering if maybe we're better suited for it now. It's only a few hours a day, right?"

"Yeah…" Fred hated to admit that he had tears in his eyes. That first night at Hogwarts had been dreadful without George. How could he take a job without his twin?

"After I… after I stormed off, I stopped by this old couple's, the Seagraves', house in the village. They had up an ad about needing someone to do some general things around the house… I took the job, Fred."

Silence. Awkward, painful, heart-wrenching silence.

"Oh."

"I'll work the same hours as you… most of the time… dad says it'll be good for me to be around muggle tech-no-liggie… good on a resume. But I was thinking it'd come in handy for the joke shop." Even in the dark, Fred could hear George's smile.

"Excellent."

"So… everything's okay, then?"

"Right as rain."

And without knowing where the other was, they reached out, clasped hands, and did the secret handshake they had shared forever.

!Touching Moment!

The next morning, Molly creaked open the door to her sons' bedroom, and found that Fred had crept over to George's bed and slept on top of the covers, back to back with his brother.


	4. Chapter 3: The First Day

**A/N: I apologize for the delay in the updates of this story, but, well, college is hectic and I'm on the mad search for a job. I've been writing this chapter bit by bit and I finally have enough to post a decently-lengthed chapter (shorter than my usual standards, but at least it's something). The first couple of chapters are being re-tooled because I'm not satisfied with them. Expect at least a couple of rewrites throughout the course of this, and lengthening of chapters. I feel bad for not having updated in some time and I thought giving you this would be better than a few more weeks with nothing.**

**Read. Review. Make my day.**

* * *

**Chapter Three: First Day**

"Do you think this looks alright?" Fred asked George nervously.

He stood in front of Ginny's door-length mirror, which he had borrowed that morning without permission. He figured that it shouldn't matter—she'd been grooming in the bathroom for a good two hours each day. He turned sideways and cocked his head a bit.

"I think it's a bit girly, don't you?" he asked.

"It's not girly," George muttered from his bed, where he was leisurely flipping through a magazine Lee had sent him.

Fred scoffed and turned to his twin. "I'm wearing an apron. _Mum_ wears aprons."

"Well, yes, Fred, but you make it manly," he said dryly, turning another page. "All the girls will fight to sit at the tables you wait on, I'd wager."

Fred sighed and took a seat on the edge of his bed. He ran a hand through his hair. "I dunno about this, George. I don't know a thing about muggle coffees or behaving around them—I don't even behave around witches and wizards! What if… what if they figure me out?"

George closed his magazine and sat up, facing his brother. "If they figure you out, they figure out the whole family, and that means a hell of a lot of memory charms. So best to mind your p's and q's, eh?"

A whole new level of fear sunk into Fred. He hadn't even thought about the others being figured out. It did make sense now that George had said it. The entire village of Ottery St. Catchpole had found the Weasleys to be something of an enigma: a large family who only came to town a handful of times a year, sent their children to a mysterious boarding school nobody had heard of, lived in an isolated house that nobody had actually seen, dressed offbeat, and said funny words that only they seemed to understand. They, along with the Lovegoods, were very strange indeed. Somehow the Diggorys had never had that problem.

Fred swallowed. "Let me see that book again. I want to make sure I've got this right."

"You've read it four times," George said, handing it over anyway.

Fred ignored his twin. After dutifully looking over each and every word in the passage about muggle restaurants, he closed it and handed it back to his twin. He wrung his hands, looked at his watch, and stood. It was nearly time for him to leave.

"How can you not be nervous, George?"

George shrugged with one shoulder. "Easy. My bosses are little old muggles who can't see well anyway. If I blunder, they won't realize it. I slip up with the phrasing of something and I'll tell them that it's new 'teenage slang'." He made quote marks in the air with his fingers.

Fred sighed again and took one last look in the mirror. "Alright… well, wish me luck."

"Good luck."

Molly had never been so proud of her twin sons. Finally they had bucked up and gotten some responsibility. Fred would be working at a muggle coffeshop, which worried Molly to no end until she had seen how hard Fred was studying their behavior in order to replicate it. George would be doing yard work for an elderly couple a few miles away. Perhaps the realization that they were entering their seventh year had finally hit them, and they'd decided to grow up.

She allowed her mouth to split into a vibrant, proud smile as George slid down the banister and Fred hopped over the side of it, landing gracefully (he'd had a lot of practice over the years) in front of George. Ginny was the only other one awake in the house, as Arthur was off at work and Ron was making his rafters vibrate from snoring.

"You two are up early," Ginny remarked before taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

"You mean Fred is up early," George corrected, pulling out his normal chair and sitting down.

"Same difference."

"Fred and George start work today," Molly beamed, plopping down plates of pancakes in front of her sons. "Eat up, you'll need your energy."

Fred grinned and eyed his mother jokingly. "I thought you said if we had any more energy we'd be human bludgers."

"You know what I mean, dear. Now you'll be focusing your energy on positive things." She set a pitcher of pumpkin juice on the table.

Normally Molly's comment would have started an uproar from Fred and George, but neither felt like arguing with her. She was proud of them for once, and she had even made them pancakes. She had never done that before—only the three eldest boys warranted special breakfasts, never the twins.

When Fred and George departed, having been hugged and straightened up at least four times each by Molly, they waved to their mother and sister. They vanished over the hill quickly and began the walk to Ottery St. Catchpole in near silence.

"Nervous?" George asked.

"Yes. You?"

"Not entirely. Be strange without you there, though."

"That's what I was thinking," Fred replied. "Almost unnatural."

"More than almost."

Neither could think of anything to say until it was time for them to go their separate ways. They performed their secret handshake, wished each other well, and started in opposite directions. George made for a two-story house on the edge of the village while Fred headed for the center of town.

* * *

George inhaled deeply and held his breath as he gazed around the yard. He exhaled, relieved that many of his tensions were released in the process. In spite of what he had told Fred, he was nervous. He was less likely to be discovered as a wizard by his employers, but it did not change the fact that he would be working for muggles.

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and the porch creaked. He adjusted the strap of his bag. It was digging into his shoulder.

He began to wonder if the Seagraves were even home. He had rung the doorbell twice in the last ten minutes and nobody had answered yet. He turned to venture down the front steps and see if either of them were in the backyard, but just as he was about to step down onto the first stair, the door swung open.

Mrs. Seagrave, a tiny woman with curly white hair and a lazy eye, stood looking at him as if she were waiting for him to speak.

"Err… good morning, Mrs. Seagrave," George began, moving back onto the porch. "I—"

She snapped the door closed in his face and he heard her shuffle away. "ROGER!" her voice boomed through the house. How could such a tiny woman make so much noise? "SOME LAD IS HERE SELLING THINGS!"

He rang the bell again and soon Mr. Seagrave opened the door.

"Oh, George! Wonderful! Mary said somebody was here to sell us something and I'd come to tell you off." He smiled at George, who stood at least a head and a half taller than him, and ushered him into the house.

Mrs. Seagrave was sitting in an armchair near the fireplace, and the fellytision was on. George had to curb his interest in the piece of technology as Mr. Seagrave took a seat in a chair next to his wife's to explain what he expected of George. Mrs. Seagrave eyed him suspiciously as he stood near the coffee table.

"Strange get-ups your generation wears," she commented huffily before turning back to her program.

George looked down at his clothes, fearing he had made some sort of mistake in his attire. He had cross-checked several sources and even wrote to Hermione. She had replied with a list of suitable clothing styles for teenage boys, as well as clippings from magazines and suggestions on what to wear for the types of work he and Fred had gotten into. Today he sported a pair of work boots, worn jeans, a baggy shirt his mother had given him for garden work at home, and a denim jacket he had found in his father's collection of muggle clothing. How could he have gone wrong?

"Oh, don't listen to her," Mr. Seagrave said, waving off her comment like it was an annoying fly. "She thinks all young men should wear slacks and ties for everything."

"It's only right," she snipped.

Mr. Seagrave rolled his eyes and began to explain that he would need George for the entire summer. He was too old to perform much maintenance himself, and needed a young back for his house repairs. George would be responsible for painting the entire house, both inside and out, planting, weeding, watering, mowing, chopping, and running errands into town each week. He was allowed to show up whenever he could work, so long as it was after four in the morning and before seven at night, when the Seagraves retired to bed. Mr. Seagrave gave George the keys to the garage and shed, along with a list of chores.

George sighed heavily as he shut the back door behind himself. He gazed at his surroundings and began to wonder what he had gotten himself into.

The yard was overgrown, the trees were crowding around the shed (which looked like it was about to fall apart), the ivy that crept up the side of the house was dead, the flowers were overrun with weeds, and the patio furniture had to have seen at least four terrific storms. The paint on the side of the house was peeling off in large chunks and George wondered why the owners of the house had not hired somebody sooner.

With another heavy sigh, he set his pack down and started for the shed.

* * *

"Fred, m'boy!" Lionel exclaimed as Fred nervously opened the door to the café. "I was starting to wonder if you were going to make it on time."

He chanced to look at the clock out of the corner of his eye and saw that he was two minutes early. "Sorry. I guess I underestimated the time it would take to walk here from my house."

Lionel smiled at Fred and strode out from behind the counter. He clapped a hand on the teen's back and twitched his mustache. "It doesn't matter; you'll know for tomorrow, then. Now, come on back here and have a look at what you'll be doing here."

Using the hand that remained on Fred's back, Lionel steered him behind the counter through a set of swinging doors that only came up to Fred's thighs. He released Fred, who was eyeing what he thought was a coffee machine with a confused look on his face, and bent to grab his own apron. He put it on and tied it behind his back with ease.

"Never used one before?" Lionel asked, watching Fred study the various buttons on a blender.

Fred looked up, nearly lost for words. He did not know how to use a blender. He was surprised he even remembered it was called a blender. Would a normal muggle boy know how to use one?

"Um," he answered intelligently.

"Don't worry about it. I couldn't figure out those blasted things until I was in college." He reached for a mug and poured himself a cup of a strong-smelling liquid Fred supposed was coffee. "Easy to learn, at any rate. Now, I'm going to be occupied with payments this morning, so I can't do your training. Laura's going to help you out and show you around. Today won't be too busy since there's a town picnic."

"Oy, Lionel, the washer's broken again!" came a shout from the back room.

"Wait a tick," Lionel muttered, vanishing into the kitchen with his cup of steaming… coffee?

Fred took the opportunity to look around. The café seemed much bigger from behind the counter. There were about fourteen small, circular tables with two chairs each, though there was a stack of extra in a corner. The walls were brilliant white and a faint smell of fresh paint caught in his nose. The café was carpeted in dark brown, but behind the counter it was tile. The shelves below the counter held various packets with names Fred did not recognize, silverware, containers of a sweet-smelling liquid, small plates, a rubbish bin, rags, and several strangely shaped bottles that Fred surmised contained cleaning products. There was another, higher counter behind him, which was home to several machines that he dimly recognized: coffee maker, hot cocoa mixer, blender, and a heater for pots of coffee and water to rest on while not being used. On the wall, there was a small refrigerated unit that held various pastries and pie. There was a bowl of fresh fruit next to the cast register and a larger refrigerator beneath the side of the counter that was on the opposite side of the small swinging doors. Fred opened it out of curiosity and found buckets of freshly chopped salad with a strange clear material stretched over the top of them. There were also large containers of things that he had seen muggles put on their salads as well as sliced lemons, also covered with the strange clear material.

"It'll be enough to get us through the day, don't worry," came a voice from behind him.

Fred turned to see the girl who had hit him in the face with a door when he had first came into the café to use the restroom. "Err."

"I just got done with this," she hauled another container of salad onto the counter above the fridge. "That way if there's a rush, we'll be prepared." She nudged Fred out of her way and shoved the container into the unit. She straightened up, adjusted her apron, and held out her hand to Fred. "Laura. I'm still terribly sorry for hitting you with the door."

"Fred," he replied, taking her hand, "and it's no problem."

She let go of his hand and leaned in to get a better look at his nose. "It's healed already?"

His hand darted up to touch his nose. "Yes. Quick healer." Actually, George had healed it for him when they'd woken up the morning after their fight.

"I guess so! Well, come on. I'll show you some things before the regulars start coming in." She turned and made her way to the end of the counter, her ponytail bobbing up and down behind her and the rims of her glasses glinting in the morning light.

By the time Laura had finished explaining the workings of the machinery to Fred (it took her a couple of hours because she was repeatedly interrupted by customers), it was time for lunch. She led him into the kitchen, which he found to be much smaller than the one at Hogwarts and much warmer, and the two sat at a table designated for employees. Mitchell, the cook, sat a couple of sandwiches in front of them and wandered back to his position by the ovens.

"What do you think so far, Fred?" Laura asked, peering at him over the top of her ham sandwich.

He finished chewing his roast beef and swallowed. "Not bad. Still not quite sure what I'm doing, but it'll come."

"Don't feel bad," she encouraged, "it took me a couple of weeks to get everything down. Although, I've always known what a cappuchino machine was called." Her eyes glittered with laughter, and the momentary fear that had arose in his chest diminished.

"Well. You have me there, I suppose."


	5. DH SPOILER

A moment of silence for Fred Weasley... 

One of my absolute favorite characters in anything ever.

Due to popular demand and my own desire to see some happy Weasleys, this story will be continued. I just need some time to get the story all plotted out again before I continue on!


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